


Wake Up Call

by CaptainRilee



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Eggsy is a Little Shit, F/M, Merlot - Freeform, Roxlin - Freeform, but gets away with murder anyway, merlin is a mother hen, roxy isn't having any of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRilee/pseuds/CaptainRilee
Summary: "If there was a perfect way to wake up, Eggsy nattering in her ear about how brilliant she was would rank top five---if she wasn’t lying in a hospital bed with an open wound, two broken ribs and a concussion."When Roxy is injured and nearly compromised on a mission, her night time visitor (& resident quartermaster) has a number of clandestine feelings about it.They are spies after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin is such a compelling character for me and Roxy doesn't get nearly enough screen time to satisfy my appetite for ass kicking brilliance. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If there was a perfect way to wake up, Eggsy nattering in her ear about how brilliant she was would rank top five---if she wasn’t lying in a hospital bed with an open wound, two broken ribs and a concussion.

“Rox, that was the sickest shite I ever seen!” Eggsy bounced in his seat, delighted, “‘Ave you wotched your glasses feed?”

“I was _there_ Eggsy.” She was aiming for long suffering exasperation, but her smile betrayed her.

“Yeah, but explosions are rather distractin’. Loud and hot and all,” he grinned, “You prob’ly didn’t ‘preciate it as much when you was unconscious.”

Her brow furrowed under the bright fluorescents of sick bay, “What was I hotwiring? The Gallardo?” she smiled wryly, “Lamborghini’s are so tetchy. That was a mistake. I should have been on foot.”

Eggsy’s slid to the edge of his seat and reached over, his hand warm and reassuring on hers, “Nunna that talk. You did right. If you’d been on foot, the debris woulda killed you. You’s lucky you put your belt on in the car, prob’ly saved your life when it rolled.”

She blinked, suddenly disturbed, “I don’t remember the roll.”

He tapped his temple, mirroring the bandage on her forehead. “Your ‘ead cracked the driver window and you was out. The roll came after that.”

Eggy’s face suddenly paled, “ _Shite_.”

He had the look of a man who was given exactly one job, realized that he neglected his duties and fully understood he was going to be tied to train tracks with no trap door for his troubles.

“Merlin’ll kill me. I wasn’t s’pose to talk about any a this. Do a bruv a favor and don’t mention it, ya?”

He leaned in and squeezed her hand, “You was fuckin’ spectacular Rox. We’ll show you the whole feed when you’s back on ya feet.”

The sudden mention of their resident polymath reminded her, “Where is Merlin?” she asked.

Merlin had been her handler on this assignment and they needed to debrief. It was _his_ delightful responsibility to fill in the gaps and slog through the vast library of paperwork with her.

It had taken _ages_ the last time.

The wizard had vanished halfway through inventory only to reappear with a nice bottle of red wine. To grease the wheels of their motivation, he'd explained. It had a name she couldn’t possibly pronounce (her Russian was non-existent). She'd stopped trying when Merlin nearly dropped his glass from laughing at her attempts. She couldn’t remember what they spoke of, only the laughter that bubbled up from her belly and lasted well into the night.

Eggsy’s brow wrinkled in confusion, “You ‘aven’t seen ‘im yet?”

Roxy shook her head.

He squinted suspiciously, “That ain’t right. ‘E’s been down ‘ere for days. ‘Ow’d you not--”

Roxy interrupted sharply, “Merlin’s been _here_? Did the files corrupt? Was he able to decrypt them fast enough?”

Kingsman had been monitoring some new biotechnology in an Asiatic weapons ring. The problem was that it was literally _biological_.

“It’s aliiive!” Eggsy had bellowed when he’d been briefed on the subject. Roxy simply rolled her eyes, which was her default setting when dealing with Eggsy. Well, smiling was a close second.

The software was both biological _and_ technological. It thrived and grew and expanded within its memory banks. This created more complex and encrypted data within the confines of its own network.

Kingsman wasn’t privy to this fact until many weeks later.

The problems started when they had tried to steal it. They infiltrated the base and pulled the files _twice_. It was an embarrassing first attempt. Percival returned with a copy of the drive only to find the files gone when uploaded at HQ. He swore blind they had been there, to no avail...the teasing had ensued for _weeks_.

They discovered the problem after their second attempt. Which  only happened because Merlin shoved the circuit board beneath a microscope.

The program was an _organism_. It couldn’t survive outside of its host’s environment, the original network. Any other server would smother it and the data would be lost.

It was a perfect anti-theft device really. Ingenious, but wildly impractical. It made travel and mobility rather difficult for the illegal weapons ring.

So Lancelot was commissioned, with Merlin on standby for encryption and backup. She would patch them into the host server for remote access.

Third time’s a charm and all that.

The charm lasted until Lancelot encountered a smooth faced rookie from the security detail. A trigger-happy, freshly minted recruit with something to prove. Ego put a swagger in his step and a predatory glint in his eye when he found her among the servers. She wasn’t about to encourage a firefight among the very tech she was trying to steal, guns were no option. When she fell back to the hallway and dashed for the dual exit bathrooms, his pursuit was equal parts gleeful and ruthless. He got off on the chase.

Lancelot had left him unconscious, zip-tied to a urinal with a bruised scrotum (among other things).  It set her timetable back two minutes.She needed to plant the diversion so Merlin would have a private moment with the program. She armed the explosives but her recent fight had distracted her and left her jittery (close quarter combat always did that).

Somehow she set the explosives with only half the time necessary for her to evacuate. She didn’t catch the mistake until Merlin was suddenly swearing in her ear, demanding she commandeer the nearest vehicle she could find.

Regardless, it all worked out.

Eggsy smiled at her from his posh, leather chair (Kingsman Medical had exceptional accommodations). “It was a complete success, minus the stint in hospital, o’ course. Merlin got the files and got you ‘ome wit’out breakin’ a sweat.”

Roxy smiled back. “He’s _very_ good at his job,” she said. At least she started to. By the time she got to ‘very’, she nearly unhinged her jaw with a bone cracking yawn that overtook her.

Eggsy leaned back, giving her space. “I should get goin’, I’m keepin’ you from your beauty sleep.” He stood, buttoning his dark blue, single-breasted suit. “Not that you need it,” he winked.

“I may be unarmed, Galahad,” she said dryly, “but that doesn’t mean you’re _safe_.”

He wandered over to the door, “I’ll come visit ag’in tumorrow,” he assured her. He paused at the door, straightening his spine like a courtly prince and diving into a dramatic bow. “Until I meet thee again…” His accent was all the plummy vowels of an Oxbridge snob, “ _Fair_ Lancelot.”

She threw ice chips at his skull.

 

If there was a perfect way to wake up, finding Merlin brooding in the corner of her dark hospital room didn’t even break top ten.

“It’s only me, Lancelot,” he murmured, “no need for weaponry.”

The soft burr of his voice made recognition easy, despite pain killers and fatigue. She quickly dropped the syringe she had palmed from a nurse a few hours before. Eggsy had been teaching her his trade in an attempt to keep her distracted in sick bay.

“Jesus, Merlin,” she croaked, “I was trying to decide on how best to break your neck while tied to an IV.”

With a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he pushed off from the wall and took the seat beside her bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, warm and courteous, ever the gentleman.

His eyes swept over her, jumping from the bump of her knees beneath the blanket, to her hands settled on her stomach, to her bedhead hair.

She smiled, sleepy, “ _Drugged_. Utterly smashed.”

He gave a stronger smile this time, one that managed to reach his inquisitive eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And who’s fault is that?” she asked, squinting at him blearily.

The title of Lancelot was hers but Kingsman training had been brutal. Roxy was more than a little surprised her nerves were intact, between the skydiving and becoming human target practice for her teammates. But she wouldn't change a second of it.

She leaned back into her pillows, thoughtful, “Is the loyalty test always a train?”

The night of the train test was still very spotty in her memory, probably from the spiked champagne. She remembered Percival’s impromptu lecture on interrogation tactics when he freed her from the rails. She mostly recalled the proud smiles of approval when she entered the monitor room. Shaking Galahad’s hand, Arthur’s respectful nod, Merlin’s small bow.

Merlin sat back and crossed his long legs, folding his clever hands across his lap. “The tests have certainly evolved over the years,” he conceded. “To a degree, trainers adapt the tests to suit the needs of the proposals.”

“Needs?” she challenged, “or terrors?”

“As you like,” he offered, enigmatic as ever.

She smiled fondly. “As delightful as this social call is,” she glanced pointedly at the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”

He unfolded himself from the chair, preparing to leave, “And I am keeping you, of course--”

“ _Merlin_ ,” she called sharply.

He stopped, and it was in that moment that she truly registered his physical state. With a casual glance, he looked perfectly put together. Clean shirt, warm sweater, distinguished glasses balanced on his nose.

Upon second glance, he looked sharp and handsome. The green in his sweater made his eyes catch the light and his collar was freshly pressed.

On a third, he looked trapped. His tie seemed to strangle his throat, the folds of his trousers were razors, even his watch was cinched too tight, cuffing his wrist like a shackle.

She budged over a bit and patted the open space next to her, “Tell me.”

He went very still, startled. He eyed her suspiciously, raising one dark eyebrow in question.

She simply patted the bed again. He didn’t seem quite comfortable with the idea of perching on her hospital bed. Yet, she knew he wouldn’t reject her invitation, despite its boldness. He was a Kingsman, after all.

So he compromised. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows and forearms in the open space of her bed. Tentative, barely there, as if he wasn’t quite certain he was allowed.

“Tell you what, exactly?” he asked, gamely.

“Why you’ve been playing clandestine mother hen while I’m asleep.”

He soured at that, “Lancelot--”

She charged in, “I’ve been trying to speak with you for days but no one seems to know where you are. Until Eggsy mentioned you’d been here, I thought you were reassigned.”

He shook his head. “There are no reassignments unless the field agent in question is incapacitated, or deceased.” His voice was strangely deadpan, recitation mode, until he said, “Kingsman finish what they start.”

His voice had an edge to it that she was having trouble deciphering.

“Yes, well we’re already 3 days behind on paperwork,” she continued. “I’m happy to hear the software is decrypted but _where the hell have you been_?”

There was a long silence. He stared at the opposite wall, absorbed and unreachable. She was foggy and groggy from the meds. And so very tired.

“Merlin, what--”

“I made a mistake,” he confessed.

It rushed out of his lips like an oversight but his eyes begged to differ when they caught hers. “A mistake that nearly cost you your life. I’ve become too…”

His hesitation suddenly made her heart lurch. Luckily, medical had forgone the cardiac monitor. Small blessings.

“... _comfortable_ ,” he finished.

Roxy eyed him curiously, “What does that even mean?”

His smile was rueful, “You should see yourself. On the monitors. You’ve got the subtly of a knife and the fury of a hurricane when it’s called for.” His head canted to the side, like they were discussing her fire range marks.

The painkillers were not helping her bring any continuity to his sudden change in subject.

“Each agent has their own flaw,” he continued. “Galahad’s got an eye for flashy footwork and more than a little hubris. Tristen lacks attention to detail but excels in infiltration strategy. Your own Percival is all too apt to shoot first and ask questions later. But you?” he shook his head and looked away, suddenly taking an inordinate amount of interest in his hands. “You’re thorough. I rarely have to correct or direct. It’s a novel experience, Lancelot. Usually I’m shouting myself hoarse through that microphone, but your work speaks for itself.”

Suppressing her knee-jerk defensive instinct was difficult but she just managed it. “I’m not apologizing for doing my job.”

He shook his head minutely, “I wouldn’t want you to,” he replied quietly, “The apology is mine.” He avoided her gaze, his hands folded tightly.

_Shame_ , her instincts finally supplied.

“I should have been there,” he said softly. He was staring at her wounds again. The gauze taped to her forehead, the bulk around her torso beneath the hospital gown, the torn skin on her arm from the airbags.

“You _were_ ,” she countered.

His eyes snapped to her face, “ _No_. I _wasn’t_ ,” he was harsh and impatient, “I was twelve layers deep in encryption with seven to go. I should have been on your feed monitor, not patching into the server. _I fucking missed it._ ”

He pulled his glasses off and passed a rough hand over his face. Scrubbing his skin as if to wake himself up, or wash himself clean. After a moment he put them back on.

Then it was her turn to be startled.

He reached out. His broad palm, fingers reaching, calloused from clipboards and guns and coding. Carefully avoiding the IV line in her hand, he drew a gentle line with his fingertip from soft tissue inside her elbow to the pulse of her wrist. An outline of the shining, red rash from the somersault in the Gallardo.

“If it weren’t for me,” he whispered, voice pitched low, “you wouldn’t be here.”

What must life be like for Merlin? Sitting before a monitor, watching comrades, _friends_ , enter situations they may not walk out of. Knowing that the difference between life and death was a few lines of computer code and a bit of ingenuity.

Merlin wasn’t looking at her, he couldn’t take his eyes from her injuries.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“You’re right,” she said softly, “I’d be dead.”

His eyes flashed, angry, and he pulled away until she caught his wrist.

“I’m not joking Lancelot,” he warned.

She tightened her grip on him, “Am I laughing, Merlin?”

“Roxy--”

“It’s a _mission_ , Merlin. It’s my job and I botched it. _I_ crossed the wires on the explosives and fucked the timer. If you weren’t screaming at me to jump the car, I’d have continued on foot. _Me_ , Merlin. This was all me.”

Suddenly, he stopped trying to pull away. He was on his feet, his chair sliding back across the floor with a dull grind. He loomed over the bed, crowding into her space, eyes dark and dangerous

“I’m your _backup_. I’m supposed to catch those mistakes. That’s _my_ job,” his voice was thick and jagged with emotion, “It’s a terrible cost, when we don’t do our jobs. It’s what your namesake, even Eggy’s father, gave their lives for. I’ve seen what that does to people, Roxy.”

She could feel the heat of his breath on her face, but it was his words that burned. She thought of Galahad, Lancelot, and the hundreds of other names she found in the archives of dead men. Pages upon pages of sacrifices; mere men with the titles of legends.

“Agents first, intel second,” Merlin recited, “that’s _always_ been Kingsman protocol. It’s why we work the way we do, and I nearly blew it to Kingdom come.”

Roxy was shaking, angry, and seconds from tears. She could keep blaming the drugs or she could accept the fact that this man, standing wrecked and repentant before her, was dangerously close to becoming her undoing.

“God damn it, Merlin. This?” she reached out and hooked her finger beneath the vice of his tie and jerked it loose, “Will not fix it.”

She still held his wrist. With a deft hand she pulled back the catch on his watch and yanked the leather free.

“This?” she dropped the timepiece into her lap, “Is a cheap brand of penance.” She rubbed the reddened mark imprinted on his wrist.

His hand was a fist of tension in hers. She pried open his fingers and pressed them hard to where the line of her jaw met the slope of her neck.

“ _This_ is because of _you_ ,” her pulse was fast and strong beneath his fingertips, “ _This_ is why we work the way we do…”

She stared into his face, thoroughly demanding no less than his undivided attention. “Because you are damn good at your fucking job.”

His hand was not quite steady where it pressed against her throat. Or was that her? “Lancelot--”

She was so close to snarling it almost frightened her, “No. None of that. Not _now_. You said it before and you’ll do it again. Give. me. my. name.”

He looked hunted, shattered, “You were unresponsive. Your glasses landed on the dashboard. I only had visual and there was too much blood. The building was in flames, the extraction team was five minutes out and you. weren’t. speaking.”

“I’m here _now_ ,” Roxy said gently, but she took his chin in a firm hand, “I’m speaking _now_. But you’re not listening.”

“Roxy...” His voice was hoarse. His hand shifted, escaping her fingers and palming her throat as if to illustrate. “I almost killed you.”

Well, if he insisted on making himself a martyr, she would join him.

“ _We_ almost killed me. _You_ were the voice in my ear telling me I wasn’t alone.”

He shook his head, slow, careful, “You are too generous. If you died because of--”

“I _didn’t_. I _haven’t._ I can’t say I won’t. It’s a bit of an occupational hazard.” Her thumb traced the line of his jaw. “You’ve got to come to terms with this, Merlin, or it’s going to eat you alive.”

_It may have already._

His eyes fell shut at her gentle touch. His shoulders slackened in defeat, exhaustion read in every line of his body. He looked like a puppet with its strings cut and frayed.

“Roxy, I--”

“Ah ah ah,” she corrected. He opened his eyes, brow furrowed with confusion.

“If you have something to say...” She turned to present her profile, as if to an artist, and tucked a few strands of bed-trodden hair behind her ear. “You start with a whisper.”

She’d surprised him again, twice in one visit was unheard of. He studied her minutely and, with only the slightest hesitation, he shifted further into her space. His breath was warm in her ear, catching in her hair.

“ _Forgive me_ …”

She turned her head a touch, resting her brow against his cheek before she replied, a mere breeze in his ear. “You stupid man, can’t you see I already have?”

His breath rushed out of him, deflated and jerky with relief. His hand came up, skimmed along the line of her throat, bumped over her jaw and curled gently into the hair. “Roxy Morton you’ll be the death of me. I’m certain of it.”

She reached out to steady herself, one hand at his collar, the other crumpling his beautiful sweater in her fist, right over his heart.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip tightened a fraction, “Certainly not.”

They stayed there for a long moment, sharing the same air, warm, possessive and weak all at once. Merlin was the first to pull away.

He seemed amused by her small ( _mortifying_ ) noise of protest, and settled on the edge of her bed.

He took a breath, “You must understand that what I am about to say has absolutely nothing to do with our current circumstances and is entirely the product of previous interactions and experience.”

He pursed his lips for a moment before adding, “It is important that you understand my sincerity.”

Roxy stood at a mental crossroad, attempting to decide if she wanted to laugh at his concern (after she basically manhandled him into redemption), or if she was batshit terrified by what he was about to say.

Before she could come to a definitive decision, he spoke:

“Will you have dinner with me?”

To say Roxy was surprised would be a gross misunderstanding of her affection and respect for the English language. She was utterly speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

She stared at him, abruptly deciding that batshit terrified was the only viable option. “Will I--” she swallowed, “That is I’d--”

“It’s only dinner,” he reminded her delicately.

Somehow that only incited her further, “No it’s not. It’s _never_ just dinner. This?” she gestured between them, “Isn’t _just dinner_.”

Not when she blows up his phone with colorfully invective commentary during meetings. Not when they laugh until three in the morning, saving paperwork from a red wine spill. Hell, his hands have measured, molded and manhandled her from the moment he stood before the recruits and said, “Fall in.” There was no escaping that.

She shook her head, “We’re _Kingsman_. From the moment I found Percival loitering in my lecture hall like a stalker, I _wanted_ it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m not going to off and shag my coworkers for a lark.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened like a bolt, “Do you honestly believe that’s what I’m suggesting?”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to avoid the sharp stab of guilt, “No,” she admitted freely.

She felt taut and strung out, as if one pluck might snap her wide open. She dropped her hands in her lap, “A relationship...that’s not something I accounted for in Kingsman. I never expected--”

He peered over the tops of his glasses, the sudden reappearance of his smile threw her, “Dissembling _now_? After your earlier display? I trained you better than that.”

“You think I’m dodging? It’s a valid concern. I don’t want to compromise our work--is there any sort of precedent protocol? Or are we on our own?”

 _We,_ she’d said. Merlin’s smile had grown; one part smug, two parts hopeful.

“Bors and Morgana are approaching their silver anniversary,” he offered casually.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Roxy gasped. She really needed to give Eggsy a wide berth. He was painting her vocabulary with all manner of vices.

Bors, a Kingsman agent, and Morgana, their head cryptographer and linguist from Research, fought like a bull and a bear locked in a closet. Their battles were legendary and there was very little peace to be had when the pair of them crossed paths.

Roxy had once used the mansion’s air ducts to escape a particularly savage encounter between the two (evidently _married_ ) agents. Merlin nearly locked the place down when she tripped the surveillance sensors. Luckily, he cross referenced all agent locations before sounding the alarm. He tracked her position and gave her a hand down and a cup of tea for her efforts.

“Next,” Merlin challenged. The smile he gave her seemed to shine from his eyes. It warmed a place, deep in her chest, she hardly knew existed.

“Your handwriting is all over my files,” she countered, “You bloody well _trained_ me. I don’t want our credibility disputed.”

“As previously discussed,” Merlin replied, unfazed, “Your closure rates have veteran agents scrambling to compensate. Beyond that, the recruitment tests are designed in such a way as to prevent favoritism. Each candidate was dropped on their own merits, you witnessed this yourself. No one would question, and even if they did, any claims of bias would be unfounded.”

She groaned in frustration, “Jesus, Merlin I don’t even know your real name.”

The silence that followed was stretched tight with anticipation.

“Would you like to?” he offered. His voice was gentle, as if the slightest provocation might put her off.

Just like that, the fight went out of her. Despite three years of missions under her belt, Merlin’s unwavering competence in her ear at all times, (the easy intimacy of late nights, laughter and wine) _this_ small offering, a token of trust, managed to loosen the tangled knot in her gut.

It was personal. It was obviously private. And he was offering it to _her_.

“Please…” she nodded.

“It’s Mycroft,” he smiled lightly, “Eggsy’s known for awhile. Somehow managed to cop off with my file while my back was turned during recruitment. It was a rather impressive lift, I’ll give him that. He’d likely have told you if I hadn’t threatened him with gratuitous bodily harm--cheeky bastard. Though, for future reference, I prefer Merlin. Mycroft was a different sort, long gone now.”

“ _Mycroft_? Like in--”

“For the love of God, don’t say it.”

She curled her lips, pinning them between her teeth in an obvious attempt to hide her amusement.

“Mycroft,” she tried it out, drawing out the sharp _mī_ of his name with a subtle coat of possession that pricked his skin in awareness, “I like it--suits you.”

She offered her hand, “Pleased to meet you.”

His face was mild yet his eyes were curiously warm. He took her hand but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips just above her knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat.

“The pleasure is mine,” he murmured into her skin, smiling.

Damn it, he’d heard her. He rested their joined hands in the small stretch of bedding between them.

“I--,” her voice was small, a mere step above a whisper, “Merlin, I don’t know if I can do this.”

It would be so easy to be reckless. To reach out and yank him forward into her bed. But that's what made Roxy-- _Roxy_. She was strategic as fuck and worked herself to scraps. She had to prove herself every day for a seat at that table. She saw the lingering stares of some of the other agents. The disapproval, the abrupt quiet when she entered a room, like she was supposed to apologize for interrupting, for _existing_. She didn’t have the luxury of recklessness.

“Neither do I,” he admitted, eyes warm and kind, “but should we at least suffer an attempt?”

His thumb stroked her knuckles, “This is no lark for me, Roxy. I don’t do things by halves, as you well know. We make an extraordinary team, we have for a long time now. I’d like to examine if that translates well into a more intimate environment.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “You’ve fancied me awhile?”

His sigh was so beyond long suffering it seemed a torment. “Yes, you foolish woman, I’ve ‘fancied’ you for quite some time now.”

She swallowed, not altogether steady herself. “Well, to be candid, I’ve fancied you for three years.”

She blushed hard. She hadn’t intended to reveal her long-standing admiration of him, not now at least. But he was looking at her with such a staggering face of surprise she couldn’t help but feel glad.

Her smile matched his, hesitant, coaxing, uncertain if they should indulge themselves.

“Now,” he settled, “as enlightening as this conversation has been, it’s past four. You are still recovering and I have recruits to wrangle at dawn. If all goes well, you may even be discharged today.”

“And dinner?” she asked, cursing the edge of hopefulness that crept into her voice.

He smiled, “At your earliest convenience.”

He moved to leave but the pressure of her hand in his stopped him. He gazed at her, curious.

Her mouth made a valiant attempt to voice her thoughts but words failed her. She didn’t know what to say.

He understood her anyway. He leaned forward and his lips brushed her cheek, a little too close to her lips to be entirely chaste. Her hand tightened instinctively in his and he retreated smiling.

“I’m not going anywhere, Roxy.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“There’s just one thing,” she admitted,  eyes glittering. Their revelations made her bold. “It’s something I’ve been anxious about for awhile, even kept me up at night.”

He leaned forward a bit, unconsciously increasing his proximity in the subliminal hope of providing comfort. “Let’s have it then...”

She sat up, meeting him on the edge of the bed--of their future--and, _finally_ , she jumped. Jumping had always been her trouble.

She reached up, wrapped her hand around his neck and drew him down to her, smile wild as his eyes darkened and his lips parted, tempted.

They stopped a breath away, “Just how clever is that mouth of yours?” she wondered aloud.

His smile was brilliant. He wrapped an arm around her, hand in the small of her back, “A gentleman never _tells_...”

With his free hand, he reached behind her, bracing himself against the upright of her bed.

He pressed her backwards into the mattress, which upset her balance and sent her clinging to his neck in surprise. A rough chuckle escaped him.

“Cheeky,” she sighed, relaxing into his hold.

She settled back against the pillows, stretching herself out beneath his gaze. His eyes traced her face, no longer straying to her bandages with guilt.

“Roxanne Morton,” he breathed, “you are a vision.”

She smiled, eyebrows raised in curiosity, “Even if I’m shrieking expletives in your ear?”

He hummed low in his throat, eyes darkening, “ _Especially_ then.”

His hand left her waist, and caressed her chin. His touch was light, barely there. A bold thumb traced her lips as his eyes followed the motion. His clever fingers mapped her skin, the well of her throat, the shell of her ear, his ring finger settled perfectly in the dimple of her smile. Skin peaked in awareness, goosebumps followed his movements.

Then he shifted, his mouth met her forehead and the breath left her lungs. Her eyes fell shut as his lips brushed across her cheek, her chin, the shadow of her jaw.

She submitted to his attentions, but his gentleness left her impatient. She tilted her head to chase after his mouth but he seemed to anticipate her, chuckle returning at her efforts.

“If you don’t kiss me properly I will strangle you with this IV line you insufferable--”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *A few odd calendar pages later*

**** If there was a perfect way to wake up, it would be in the blue of the morning. In those quiet moments where the world is just beginning to wake. She would be warm beneath the covers, a strong arm across her waist. The man beside her pressing his lips gently into her spine, tracing designs on her belly. His sleep-roughened voice murmuring, “Good morning,” into her shoulder, insisting on kissing her, despite her protests of morning breath, and compromising on a closed-lipped, firm brush of the mouth. She’d roll onto her back and he’d brace himself on an elbow, pulling back the sheets and continuing his designs farther north onto the grooves of her ribcage.

Sans Eggsy, of course.

“Jesus Christ, Rox!” his voice was tiny from the glasses’ micro-outputs but no less demanding, “We’ve got a mission lined up. Leave ‘im wrecked and begging and git your arse down to the tarmac. We’re leavin’ in two ‘ours!”

Roxy snatched her glasses off the nightstand and put them on, “Spying again Eggsy?”

“It’s my fuckin’ job,” he squawked into her ear, “Yours too if you’d manage to tear yourself away from the Scottish charms. That why you git all the cool toys?”

“You  _ break _ all the toys. I receive no deferential treatment,” she assured him, only to groan as Merlin’s teeth met the juncture of her throat,

“...during working hours at least,” she panted.

Eggsy made a wronged noise, like a sulking bulldog, “My God, I’m right ‘ere! He’s still at it?!”

“This coming from the man who bummed royalty and left his “bruv” out in the snow after she made a hundred kilometer descent from the edge of the atmosphere?” Roxy didn’t hold back the hard, shuddering gasp that overcame her. She couldn’t help it when Merlin grabbed her ribcage and his mouth just-- “I’ll see you in two hours,” she growled.

“Rabbits, the both ov you!” Eggsy griped. She cut the transmission with an impatient beep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on the journey! I've found merlin/roxy to be a tragic fringe-ship with so much potential. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Discovering their dynamic was a joy worth repeating. Comments welcome. Flames will be doused with retardant.


End file.
